


Not Another "Dave the Club DJ" Fic

by ambrolen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), Drug use mention, M/M, Minor suggestion of the implication of sexual assault, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-07-29 16:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20085646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambrolen/pseuds/ambrolen
Summary: Your name is Karkat Vantas and you're annoyed you have to watch after your moirail, Gamzee Makara, as he goes to random clubs on a weekly basis. Then an attractive DJ catches your eye and flirts with you. Are you just annoyed that he's being such a tool about it, or worried that he's just fucking with you? Does it even matter, since you doubt you'll go back to that club and see him again?





	1. The Club in Question

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you didn't really Do Clubs. But Gamzee dragged you here and you knew that fucker would get in all sorts of trouble if you weren't around to at least  _ somewhat _ keep him in check. The shit you do for moirails. However, that did not mean you actually had any intention of getting in the thick of it. There was a balcony of sorts that thankfully wasn't reserved for VIPs or anything so you grab a small table and watch over the dance floor, doing your best to keep a close eye on your friend while sipping on a glass of water you grabbed from the bar. At least this place had a DJ who seemed to know what he was doing, unlike the last few clubs you were dragged to. Your eyes are drawn to the person in question and you see him at work behind his turntables. It's hard to see much from the distance, but he's wearing a loose v neck t-shirt and tight jeans and for some reason is wearing a pair of sunglasses in the dimly lit club. He seems really into what he's doing, his full body moving along with his records and switches, head bobbing along with the beat. 

The song comes to an end and he pressed some buttons on his laptop until something that seems premixed starts playing. You suppose everyone need a break. You watch as he goes through a series of stretches. Arms out. One leg braced on the railing, then the other he rolls his shoulders and twists his head from side to side and then he freezes in place for a moment and waves. 

At you. 

He's waving at you because he realizes you've been goddamned staring and you don't know for how long you just zoned out motherfucker where is Gamzee. 

You jerk your head away from the dj and search for your moirail in the crowd. Thankfully he's tall as shit, especially with his horns, and you see him in the middle of a cluster of people all grinding on each other. Right where he belongs. 

You take another sip from your glass only to realize you've already drained it. You decide to head back down to the bar and grab another one. 

The bartender has more pressing issues than getting you a glass of water so you wait as he serves the people actually getting drinks they have to pay for. They're more noisy about it anyway and you don't mind. Gamzee should be in that crowd for the next hour or so. 

You're moderately annoyed when someone slides up to the bar next to you despite there being plenty of open room closer to the bartender. You glance over in annoyance and your eyes grow wide when you realize it's the dj. 

He grins at you as he catches your eye. "You were up on the balcony, right?" 

You shrug. "What's it matter?"

He leans back against the bar and shrugs casually. "Just wondering if you were enjoying the view."

You can't help but eye him up and down. Skin tight low ride jeans showing off his hips, shirt clinging to him with sweat, accentuating the toned body hiding beneath, the v cut enticingly lower that it seemed to be from the distance. He grins wider. 

"I've seen better," you say dismissively. 

He lets out a laugh. "Maybe you just need a closer look?"

You snort. "Don't you have a job to do? Or do you prefer to go around harassing the patrons?"

He looks back at his set up. "You're right. I've been away from my baby too long."

You roll your eyes. 

He starts to leave them turns back to you. "I get off at one thirty. Just so you know." Then he walks off. 

A glass sliding into your hand breaks you out of your daze of staring after him. 

“Your water," the bartender says, smiling like he knows something you don't. 

You grab the glass. "Ah fuck off."

He just laughs. 

You head back up to your perch and, sure enough, Gamzee is right where you left him. Your eyes start to glaze over as you watch the writhing mass of people and you don't notice as your eyes slowly drift back up to the dj. 

But he notices. 

If you thought he was into it before, you don't know how to describe it now. His motions seem to be both delicate and urgent and while his whole body isn't moving in sync quite as before, it's only because each movement now seems practiced and deliberate. And after one especially forecefull spin of his discs, you see his shoulders heave up and down and he looks up and you can't see his eyes but you feel them boring into you and you swear you see the glint of his teeth and then he gets back into the song. You release your breath in a long sigh. 

Fuck. 

You distract yourself by watching Gamzee again. 

The next few hours pass by uneventfully. You avoid looking at the DJ again, instead watching Gamzee as he moves from group to grinding group. You've gotten water a couple more times and suddenly remember that it does, in fact, have to continue traveling on its way. Now. You make it to the bathroom which is miraculously clear of anyone else, leaving you to piss in peace. 

You're finishing washing your hands when the door swings open. You instinctively glance up only to see that motherfucking DJ again. 

You don't pay him any mind as you grab some paper towels and dry your hands. Everyone's gotta piss, right? Weird timing is just weird. 

You toss the trash and turn toward the door and see he's still there, leaning against it, seemingly staring at you (those FUCKING glasses). 

"Uh," you say. "Can you move?"

"Why?"

You scowl at him. "So I can fucking leave?"

He smirks. "Now why would you want to do that?"

You roll your eyes. "It's not one thirty yet. Shouldn't you still be working instead of stalking customers to the bathroom?"

He shrugs. "I got off early. Would you like to? Get off, that is." He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

You sigh. Loudly. Then you storm up to him. 

His smile falters and he throws his hands up in front of him defensively. "Hey, dude, calm down, I'm just playing around, keep your chill. No need to be--"

You grab him by his very loose collar and cut him off with your mouth. 

"Mmrmph??" he squeals into your lips. His arms shoot out to either side, then slowly move back in, but stay hovering above your shoulders. 

You pull back and can see his eyes wide through his glasses. You push him away from the door and hear his head think into the wall. 

"That's what I thought," you say. "Just talk."

You exit the restroom and track down Gamzee. It's time to leave this shit hole. 

Gamzee seems reluctant until he sees the look on your face. He hugs just about everyone left in the fucking club, which you watch impatiently, then walk out the door. 

Just before the door slams shut behind you, you swear you hear a familiar voice calling for you to wait. 

You don't bother looking back. 

Surprisingly it seems like all Gamzee got his hands on tonight was pot, so he's pretty relaxed as you drive back to your apartment. He's also way more in tune with your emotions than he would be were he on anything else. 

"What's up my brother how can this motherfucker help you out?"

"It's nothing," you snap. 

Gamzee lounges into the seat, looking like a pile of limbs. "You can be honest with a motherfucker. That's what moirails are for." He paps your cheek gently and you can't help but lean into it. 

"In a bit," you promise. 

Satisfied, Gamzee lolls his head to the other side, rolls down the window, and lets his arm play with the wind as you drive. 

When you get home, Gamzee immediately relaxes into your pile of pillows and blankets and pats the space next to him. You oblige. He wraps his lanky arms around you and you cuddle into his chest. 

You sigh. "There was this guy." Gamzee strokes your hair. "He was cute, I guess, and like aggressively flirting with me like it was  _ bad _ dude it  _ sucked _ , but it was also…"

Gamzee waits for a second to see if you will continue on your own, then rubs your horns delicately. 

You squish your face further into him. "Kinda nice."

You feel Gamzee nodding above you. "It was that motherfucking DJ huh?" You jolt up a little but he pushes you back down. "I saw him checking you out my brother. He wasn't the subtle sort."

You snort. That's for damn sure. "Anyway he cornered me in the bathroom and--" You stop as you feel Gamzee tense beneath you. You twist and look up and he has the same pleasant smile on his face but his eyes are tinged with rage. You quickly pap his face. "Shh shh not like that I'm okay," you say, hopefully reassuringly. 

He relaxes and you do too. He's smiling genuinely now. "Honestly it was basically the opposite," you continue. "I made an actual move on him, Gamzee! Me! Made a move on  _ him _ ! I kissed that tool! But I don't know if he was all talk or…" You sigh and adjust until your head can rest in your moirail's lap. His hands follow. "He was probably fucking with me the whole time," you grumble. 

Gamzee paps your cheek. "Now, now, my brother! He was probably just in awe of the motherfucking miracles that brought luscious lips like yours onto his and didn't know how to handle it." He brushes one finger lightly over your lips. You flush and swat him away, but he just laughs and goes back to running his fingers through your hair. 

"Yeah laugh it up, asshole,” you grumble. “Anyway, I guess that’s it, and I’m just all pissed off over nothing.”

Gamzee looks at you and raises his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” you growl.

He just chuckles.

“ _ Anyway _ ,” you say again, “I’m going to hit the pod and get some much needed shut-eye. You should soon, too.”

Gamzee smiles wide. “Good night, Kar.”

“Night, Gam.”

And you sleep, urging your sopor slime to wash away your embarrassing night from your mind.

It politely declines.


	2. Delibros before Delihoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short glimpse of a chance encounter, a more deliberate one, and a question.

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are fucking exhausted. A perk about your job as a fireman is you get about 20 days off a month. The downside is, it’s because you work ten 24 hour shifts a month. You just finished your third, so seven more to go. The next few days off will be awesome.

Once you get into your apartment, you start shedding your grimy clothes on the way to the bathroom, having to shake them off as they stick to your sweat-slicked skin. You turn the shower water on hot, then climb in and soak in the stream, soothing your aching muscles before you gather the energy to actually wash yourself.

Once done, you towel off and wrap yourself in a bathrobe, ready to sprawl out on your comfy pile, when your stomach growls in annoyance. Yeah, you guess it’s been a while since you’ve eaten properly. You open the fridge, but all that’s in there is one slice of suspicious looking pie that’s probably Gamzee’s and your regular assortment of condiments. You toss the pie and check the cabinets. One tiny can of grubmeat greets you. Why do you never prepare better for the days you  _ know _ you won’t want to do anything? You contemplate slamming your head in the cabinet door, but decide otherwise.

Thankfully there’s a convenience store a block away from your place so you can quickly load up on some junk food. You still grumble as you slip on your clothes, a shirt and some pajama pants that  _ might _ look close enough to real pants to not get you any looks. Not that you really give a fuck. You slip on you shoes and head down the street.

You grab a basket once you’re in the convenience store and begin loading it up with the quickest, most immediately satisfying food you can find. Tomorrow or the day after you’ll probably go out to get proper groceries and actually  _ cook _ but today is for cheap indulgence. Content with what you’ve gathered, you head to the short line for the counter, scanning through the aisles in case you missed anything, and that’s when you spot a man sporting suspicious pair of shades on the other side of the aisle from you, studying a bag of treats in his hands.

“No fucking way,” you mutter. It can’t be, right? You’ve just been thinking about him so much that you’re projecting him onto any random person you see. You shake your head and continue to the counter, but out the corner of your eye you see the man’s head perk up and you realize you must have said that louder than you thought.

His face splits into a grin. “Hey, is that you balcony boy? I’d recognize those nubby little horns anywhere.”

“ _ Balcony boy?” _ you groan.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and cocks his hips. God _ damn _ you wish you hadn’t noticed he cocked his hips because he clearly noticed you noticing as his grin transforms into something you believe humans describe as “shit eating.”

“Well it’s not like you left me your name and number, dude.”

You roll your eyes. “I can’t imagine why.”

His smile falters, which gives you some sense of satisfaction, but he quickly regains his composure. “I’m Dave, since you asked so kindly.” He sticks one hand out to you.

You frown, but take it. “Karkat.”

He grips your hand tight then tugs you close. “Karkat,” he whispers into your ear. “Now  _ that’s _ a name I’d love to scream later.”

You shove him off of you. “Oh for fucks sake!” you yell. A few heads turn your direction. You bring your voice down to a loud whisper. “What the fuck are you even doing here?”

Dave looks shaken, but tries to play it cool. “Delibros, dude. People ask and I make sure they receive.” He wriggles his eyebrows, but it’s not as convincing as the first time he did it.

You stare at him.

He holds up the pack of candy in his hands. “Some dude has the munchies so he pays me via an app for me to bring it to him.”

Now that you think about it, you’re pretty sure Gamzee’s used it a couple of times when he’s crashed over at your place. You even think you recognize that brand of candy.

He looks down at your basket and whistles. “Speaking of munchies,  _ someone’s _ got a fun night planned.”

Your stomach takes this opportunity to let out a very, very audible growl.

Dave practically shoves his fist in his mouth as he chokes down his laughter.

You whip away from him and rejoin the line. He files in behind you, sticking distractingly close to your back. You pay and leave and Dave does the same. You realize he’s following close behind you.

“Dude, really?” you shout over your shoulder.

He waves his phone at you. “Just following the GPS Karkitty.”

You’re too exhausted to even address that.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, but your hands are full of the bags from the store so you ignore it. You round the corner and head into your apartment building, belatedly wondering the wisdom of leading a stranger back to your home. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow you in. You walk straight down the hall to your apartment, which you stupidly left unlocked in your haste, and clumsily grab the door handle when you hear the building door open and look up to see that  _ motherfucker _ walk in.

You drop your bags and stomp over to him, getting a flash of deja vu as he once again holds his hands out in front of him, one holding his phone this time.

“Karkat, my dude, I swear, this is where the app is taking me. Apartment number 104. Please just look at the phone if you don’t believe me.”

That is. That’s your fucking apartment number.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket again, this time in quick succession indicating a phone call. You glare at Dave and pull out your phone, using the distraction as a way to bide time to figure out what the fuck is going on. It’s Gamzee. Of course. Who else would be calling you.

“What?” It comes out harsher than you intend.

“Chill out my good brother, I have just called to make sure you were home.”

“Yeah, I am, why?”

“My deep misfortune is about to be a motherfuckin miraculous occurance for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Glob you don’t need this shit right now. Dave is still staring you down, phone still held out like he’s frozen in place.

“I ordered a motherfuckin sweet treat but forgot to change the address so my delectable delights are heading your way. I just wanna make sure you’re there to grab those motherfuckers so they don’t go to waste.”

You stare at the Delibro before you, bag of sweets in hand. “I gotta go, Gam.” You hang up the phone and slide it back into your pocket, eyes not leaving Dave. “That was my moirail,” you finally say.

You see Dave’s eyes raise behind his shades.

You sigh. “Those are for him.”

“Oh.” The two of you stay awkwardly silent for a moment, but Dave recovers before you do. “This must be fate, Karkles, destined to get me closer to your bed.” He actually shoots you finger guns, clumsy finger guns since he’s still holding things, but finger guns nonetheless. But you feel yourself blush anyway. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“I’m a troll; I don’t have a bed, asswipe,” you growl. “And it’s not like you’d know what to do with me in one, anyway, if the other night was any indication.”

His smile is gone and his shoulders slump slightly. You feel a twinge of guilt, but ignore it. He hands you the package of candy, swipes a few times on his phone, then says, “I’ll get out of your hair, Karkat.” It sounds soft. And sad. And hurt. And your chest pangs. But you don’t know him! He’s just some jackass from some club and yeah, he’s a  _ hot _ jackass, but… You’re just so tired from your last shift; you’re honestly surprised you’re still holding it together. You grab the candy, mutter a “thanks” and head back down the hall to your apartment.

You regather your bags and open the door and you can’t stop your eyes from darting back to the entrance as you cross the threshold, but he’s already gone.

You wish Gamzee were here.

Your next few days off pass uneventfully. Your next 24 hour shift is Sunday, so Gamzee doesn’t bother trying to drag you out to clubs that weekend, he just crashes at your place and bakes more of his weird-ass pies. You told him about your chance encounter in your ranting, grumbling way, and he just hums and rubs your horns and says, “It’ll all work out, my brother. Don’t you worry bout that.” You don’t say that you don’t know what you want it to work out  _ to _ . It’s nothing, right? But you remember seeing Dave’s wide eyes through his lenses, the way he faltered when you called him out, and, glob, even if he’s being a tool, the way he  _ smiles _ at you… It tugs at your gut so you bury your face further into Gamzee’s chest.

Number four of your ten 24 hour shifts is done. You walk out of the station, as sweaty and grimy as usual, when a whistle pierces through the air. You turn to find the source and it’s Dave the motherfucking dj.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, too exhausted to put your normal level of bite behind it.

“Nah, I just tracked down your moirail and asked where you worked so I could ‘happen’ to bump into you. Stalking would have been hanging around your apartment.”

You stare at him. “That’s still fucking stalking, you creepy fuck.”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Oh shit, you’re right, fuck!”

He looks… seriously concerned. Is he that fucking dense that he didn’t realize it until you pointed it out? You sigh. “So why did you stalk me to my place of employment?”

“Dyouwannagonadate?” His face is splotchy red and you could see it creep down his neck. No v-neck this time, so you don’t know how far it travels.

“What?” you ask, sure you misheard those jumbled words.

He clears his throat. “Date? You and me? Like. Coffee or something?”

You gape at him. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m not, I swear! Gamzee said you were afraid I was fucking with you, so give me a chance to show you I’m not.”

You bristle. “Gamzee said  _ what _ ?” You’re going to kill that motherfucking clown.

“Shit, hey, forget I said that. Just. Do you wanna? Say no and I’ll leave you be, swear to god.”

You look at him. His hand clenched in his hair, the other shoved in his pocket. His face trying to look neutral, but looking desperate all the same. Narrow shoulders. Small but defined waist. Okay no more looking for you! “Fine,” you mumble.

“What?” he asked, and you hate how your chest clenched at that hopeful note in his voice.

“I said fine! One date! But not today. I’m too fucking exhausted.”

“Tomorrow, then?” He was practically standing on his toes.

“Yeah, sure, come by at three or whatever. You know where I live.”

“I could always text you when I’m on my way?”

“You’re not getting my fucking number.”

He smirks and shrugs, relaxed again. “Never hurts to try. See you tomorrow, Karkitty.”

You don’t answer and just get in your car and drive home.


	3. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat goes on a date with Dave and learns a little bit more about him.

You’re fucking nervous. You can’t  _ believe _ you’re fucking nervous! But here you are, pacing away in your apartment in a black button-up shirt and a nice pair of dark jeans. It’s five after three, and even though you had said “three or whenever,” you were hoping he would be, well, punctual.

“It’s all good, my brother,” Gamzee says, relaxing in your pile.

You whip your head and glare at him. “Don’t  _ think _ I’m done being mad at you for divulging our feelings jam to a complete fucking stranger.”

Gamzee just shrugs lazily. “Sometimes a motherfucker needs a push and this motherfucker is only happy to provide.”

You’re not sure if he means you or Dave as the “motherfucker” who needs a push, but you don’t ask. You continue pacing and check your phone. Almost ten past now. “Maybe he got fucking lost,” you grumble heading over to the door and trying to ignore how desperate hanging outside of the building for him is going to seem. But as you get closer, you hear muttering, and you pause to listen.

“It’s cool, you got this, smooth like molasses on ice. Is that the saying? Is molasses smooth on ice? What the hell is molasses anyway? That feels like something I should know. Isn’t it like a stereotypical southern thing? Not that we ever had any fucking ice to test it on. Off track, Dave, get in the zone!”

That motherfucking  _ dork _ is standing outside your door, talking to himself. You swing the door open and catch him, hand mid-knock, but straining like it’s been there for a while, and he jumps back a bit in surprise. “Oh, shit, uh, hey, Karkles, long time no see,” he says, as though this will regain any of the dignity he just lost. He’s wearing a red button-up, black slacks, and those motherfucking glasses. You are saying motherfucking too much. Or thinking it. Gamzee really has drained away your creative cursing. You wish you had some of it back now so you could swear about how good Dave looks with his shirt tucked into his pants and his arms tight in his sleeves, his shirt unbuttoned one button too low to be quite proper.

“You’re late,” you growl.

He seems irked. “Technically I was here on time, dude.” He then realizes the implications of what he says and his face goes decidedly neutral.

You stare at him. “How long were you out here, shits-for-brains?”

He shrugs, but you can tell he knows exactly how long.

You decide to drop it. It’s… Actually kind of cute that he’s this nervous? “So where are you taking me?”

He cocks one elbow out, and you consider it for a moment before taking it, trying to fight a blush threatening to consume your cheeks. “Just this nice little Italian restaurant I know.”

“Oh.” Are you dressed well enough for that? You hope so. “Lead the way.”

Olive Garden. It’s fucking Olive Garden.

You don’t  _ mind _ Olive Garden, but it certainly isn’t what you were expecting. At least you aren’t under-dressed?

The two of you don’t talk much as you’re led to a booth, fresh breadsticks placed in front of you.

“Aw, hype, yes!” Dave exclaims, immediately slamming a breadstick into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. He must have registered you staring at him, because he quickly swallows his food (you’re not sure he had chewed quite enough for that but he managed it without chok--wait no don’t go down that line of logic back it up, pal!), then sort of sheepishly says, “Free tastes better.”

“Uhhuh,” you say.

“Speaking of which, your food is going to be tasty as all shit because, if it wasn’t pretty fucking obvious, I’m paying. So go ham, get what you want, I got you covered.” He shoots you finger guns again like the goddamned dork he is.

You snort against your will and his grin widens. “Fine. You kinda owe me for stalking me and shit.”

His grin falters.

The two of you order. You get the shrimp and chicken carbonara and immediately regret it when he gets the artichoke dip appetizer and nothing else. He said get whatever, but you remember you’ve seen him working two jobs, neither known for their high rate of pay. Fuck. Time for a distraction before you get stuck in a negativity drain.

“So how did you find Gamzee, anyway? He’s not exactly… Consistent.”

Dave blushes. “Well, uh, I may have misrepresented my brand when I said I tracked him down.  _ He _ found  _ me _ .” That mother grub licking asswipe! You’re both furious and embarrassed and apparently Dave notices at least part of that expression because he quickly says, “I mean, I was going to try to find you, you know? But I didn’t want to seem fucking weird, and then at one of my sets this gangly juggalo troll was staring at me unblinkingly and I thougtht he was going to kick my ass or some shit but nah he just waited until my set was done and told me where you worked and that you thought I was an insincere douche or something and then he was gone.” He gasps in a breath then slams his mouth shut as your salads are served.

“Oh,” you say once the server is gone. “So,” you hesitate. “So why track me down to begin with?”

Dave leans back and smirks. “Well, I couldn’t deny you the Strider experience you seemed to be into, now could I?”

You toss down your fork and your mouth screws into a scowl. “What the fuck is your problem, Dave?”

His eyebrows shoot up and his lips part in surprise. “What?”

“Are you six sweeps old or something? God, why did I even bother coming out here with you?” You stand up abruptly, shaking the table as you do, and walk out, ignoring Dave calling after you.

By the time you get out of the building, you remember he’s the one who drove you here, so you round the corner to a less public side of the building and pull out your phone, trying to decide between calling someone to pick you up or just getting an Uber. You’re realizing just how embarrassing it would be to have Kanaya or someone pick you up from a failed date when you hear Dave calling your name. You let your head hit the wall behind you then turn to face the direction his voice is coming from, hands shoved into your pockets and scowl still on your face. He freezes when he rounds the corner and sees you.

“What?” you growl impatiently.

“I-I’m sorry, dude.”

His hair is ruffled and face more red than it should be from the quick sprint out of the restaurant. His hands are fidgeting with the bit of his shirt that came untucked.

“You’re doing a piss-poor job of not seeming like an insincere douche, Dave.”

His shoulders slump. “I know, fuck, Karkat, I’m trying. Just  _ please _ come back inside and give me another chance, okay?”

“Kiss me!” It’s out of your mouth before you finished the thought and you’re pretty sure his shocked look reflects your own. But you lean into it. Because fuck it, why not? If he’s going to keep rolling out inuendos and shit like a fucking frat boy, he’s got to prove it’s not going to end up like it did at the club.

“Karkat, I--”

You growl in frustration. “Is this a game to you? See how long you can drag a troll by his horns until he reaches the limits of his desperation? Well I’m not that desperate, Dave.”

Dave runs his fingers through his hair, then down his cheeks, then up behind his shades and stops, leaving his hands covering his eyes like he needs another shield. “I realized I was bi two months ago,” he finally says.

Ah, shit. Shit motherfucking damn Sufferer and his Disciple you’re a fucking asshole. You forgot humans had a hangup about the gender they were interested in. “Shit, Dave, I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s not an excuse for me being an asshole,” he continued, hands lowering. “I just don’t know what I’m doing and I guess I thought it would help?”

“You thought being an asshole would help.”

He laughs, hands now clutching his sides. “I never said I was a smart man, Karkles.”

You snort. “Let’s go finish our date, dumbass.” He grins and leads you back inside.

The rest of the date went well. You found out Dave, indeed, didn’t make a lot from his main gig as a DJ, which he mostly did on the weekends, and spent most of his time picking up odd jobs to make up the rest. He had a roommate, John, who he had been best friends with since childhood, which is how he managed to afford rent. You noticed he skirted around topics about his family, but that sort of human shit was weird for you, anyway, so you didn’t press it. Most of all, you realized that he was legitimately funny, especially when he wasn’t trying to be a complete tool. He was also very passionate about what he did, and you loved listening to it, even if you didn’t understand half of what he was saying. You did notice, however, that he ate his appetizer like it was the only food he had all day, and while you didn’t want to hurt his pride by insisting to pay, you did manage to convince him to take your leftovers home.

He drove you back to your apartment in silence that somehow managed to ride the line between comfortable and awkward, and the two of you remain silent as he walks you to your door.

Your hand is on the knob, but you’re still turned toward him. “Thanks, it was… surprisingly fun.”

He snorts. “Jeez, thanks, Kat.” You smile. “So… When do I get to see you again?”

You roll your eyes. “How about you give me your number and I’ll text you when I’m up for it?”

He grins and happily supplies his digits while you register him as a new contact in your phone. You slide it back into your pocket, your hand heavy once again on the doorknob. “Well--” you begin.

Dave leans in and kisses you softly on the cheek. “Don’t keep me waiting, Karkat,” he murmurs into your ear before pulling away. For all the smoothness the action implied, when he pulls back you see his grin is wide and lopsided and his ears are tinted pink. “Night,” he says, giving you a little salute.

“Night,” you respond, finally twisting the knob and letting yourself back into your apartment.

You close the door and lean on it, exhaling a pent up breath. Your jerked out of your reminiscing of what just occurred by a slight honk and jerk your head to see your moirail, still in your pile, asleep and snoring. Part of you wants to be mad at him for going about this as he did, but with a kiss fresh on your cheek, you’re having a hard time being mad at anything right now. Instead you strip out of your uncomfortable shirt and pants, join Gamzee on your pile, cuddle up against him, and let his ridiculous honk-snores lull you into a nap.


	4. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second date is arranged.

You had another 24 hour shift the day after your date. You had initially been planning on relaxing the entire day, and while you didn’t regret the date, you also didn’t  _ not _ regret the date. Thankfully not a lot happened on your shift, so you weren’t too out of sorts. You had an entire week off next, anyway, so after using a day to fully relax, you text Dave asking if he’s free to meet up again. Almost immediately your phone buzzes with his response, “yeah sure,” and after a few back and forths you have a plan in place: Movie night at his apartment while his roommate is out visiting family.  
It seems relaxing enough, but part of you doesn’t know if movie night also implies staying the night or what staying the night would imply. But Dave is fairly inexperienced by his own admission, so movie night is probably just movie night. No weird undercurrent there.  
You show up at 6:50, ten minutes prior to the agreed upon time. His apartment complex is a little worse for wear, but you’ve lived in worse. You take the three flights of steps and walk down the hall to his apartment. There’s a welcome mat in front of it, which you immediately ascribe to the roommate. You knock on the door and hear a muffled “Hold up!” in response, then some shuffling, then the door opens to Dave, hair slightly mussed and shirt lopsided.  
“You’re early,” he says.  
“By, like, five minutes?”  
Dave lightly frowns at that, then steps aside and gestures for you to come in.  
In contrast to the appearance of the outside of the building, Dave’s apartment is pristine. Sure, the appliances are outdated, but they’re in good condition and are adorned with markers of home, like the decorative kitchen towel on the oven handle or the magnets on the fridge. The living room was a little messier, but only in the sense that made it look lived in. A jacket thrown over the back of the couch here, a stray gaming controller there, and the quilt laid over the couch and handmade coasters on the coffee table just added to the homey vibe of the rest of the apartment.  
Your attention had turned to the photos on the walls when Dave snapped his fingers in front of your face, bringing you out of it with a start.  
“Didn’t take you for an interior design junky, Kat,” he says, unfazed by your glare.  
“I’m just appreciating the place! Am I not allowed to absorb an environment I’ve never been in before? I assume this is all your roommate’s doing?”  
“I’m absolutely wounded at the implication I couldn’t throw this shit together if I wanted.”  
“Could you?”  
Dave smirks. “Nah, Egbert has a knack for this shit that just ain’t in my wheelhouse. He’s on some next level shit.” There’s a moment of silence, but Dave cuts it off before it gets too awkward. “Anyway, I took the liberty of ordering some pizza, should be here in about thirty-five minutes. You seem like a pretty basic pepperoni guy, but if not, I’m sure there’s something in the fridge we could throw on it to spice it up. ‘Til then feel free to peruse my generous offerings of movies. My shit is on the left bookcase, so you can ignore John’s heaps of garbage on the right.”  
You’re not quite sure he took a breath through all of that, but you do as he instructed as he flops onto the couch in what you assume is supposed to be a casual manner. Dave’s bookcase has an assortment of rap albums, some interestingly shaped empty alcohol bottles, a few PS2 games, and exactly three movies: Clerks 2, Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, and Shrek the Third. You scrunch up your nose and furtively glance at John’s bookcase, which seems to be jam packed with movies, several of which immediately catch your eye. You nonchalantly look back at Dave, who seems absorbed in his phone, then quickly grab a movie from the roommate’s shelf and present it to Dave.  
“This one seems good.”  
Dave looks at the movie, looks at you, back down at the movie, then back up at you.  
“Failure to Launch,” he says.  
“Yeah,” you say.  
“You did  _ not _ grab this from my shelf, dude.”  
“Maybe it was shelved wrong!”  
He stares at you.  
You huff defensively. “Okay, maybe you should get better taste in movies!”  
He half sighs half chuckles and grabs the movie from your hand. “You know what you’re the guest and apparently ‘dudes who like shitty romcoms’ is my type.”  
There is a beat as the implication of that statement washes over you both.  
You know this is a touchy subject but you, Karkat Vantas, have also never understood the concept of avoiding touchy subjects in your life.  
“How long ago did you say you realized you like guys, Dave?”  
“Uh… a couple months,” he says, still frozen in place.  
“And how long have you been roommates with… John, was it?”  
Dave clears his throat loudly as he bolts up off the couch. “Okay, dude, listen. It’s not… How it looks? But it is also  _ absolutely _ how it looks fuck.” He begins pacing around the living room, gesturing wildly, the movie still in hand. “John is my best bro. Has been since we were kids. Of course I was going to jump at the chance to move in with him when he said he wanted to find a place while he went to school. I mean look at this place he has his fucking shit together. And you know, well, it’s his place right? We’re both guys. What’s the harm in walking around in your boxers and never keeping your shirt on in the apartment and--” He runs his hand not occupied by the movie through his hair then looks at you. “John’s straight as an arrow. Actually you know scratch that the dude might  _ be _ aro. Basically he isn’t into me and just because he’s the foundation of my gay awakening doesn’t mean shit. Yeah, he’s stupidly hot and doesn’t have personal boundaries and we’re roommates but you’re not like, I don’t know, a rebound or anything? You’re not just a way for me to stop thinking about John. So like. We cool?”  
He’s looking at you so nervously you feel a pang in your chest.  
“Dave, it’s cool. Believe it or not I know you can be attracted to more than one person at a time. It’s not a crime to have a hot roommate. Though honestly I’m not sure if I trust your taste.”  
Dave visibly relaxes, shoulders slumping forward at the release of tension, and laughs. “Trust me, dude. You’ll see.” He flops back down on the couch and you sit next to him. “Plus, I mean, I’m into _you_.”  
“My point exactly,” you mutter.  
He laughs and nudges you with his elbow. “Get some self love, Kat.”

You keep light conversation as you wait for the pizza, mostly Dave riffing on your and John’s movie taste and you arguing back heatedly but with a deep enjoyment. You're not sure who started scooting closer to whom as you talked, but there was a shock of cool on the side that had been pressed against him as he got up to get the door. Your resentment of the delivery man evaporated as soon as the smell of hot cheesy pizza and cardboard enters the apartment. Once you hear the click of the door latch, you get up and follow Dave to the kitchen, who gestures to a cabinet and says, "Plates." You grab two ceramic plates and set them gently on the counter as Dave sets down the pizza and grabs some plastic cups.  
"There's pop in the fridge. Probably some oj too. Or there's always good ol tap water."  
You eye him and say, "I'll have water, thanks."  
He looks confused for a second, then the light bulb clicks on. "Oh right like 90% of our pop is basically booze to you guys my bad."  
You roll your eyes. "And here I thought you were trying to lower my inhibitions."  
He laughs as he puts two slices of pizza on each plate. "For someone who hated my shitty pick up lines you sure keep walking your way into them."  
You fill up your cup at the sink. "I guess I'm testing your self control."  
He grabs an orange soda from his fridge and pours it into his cup, shaking his head. "You're doing this on purpose to hurt me. It's working. I am in pain."  
"Good."  
You both head back to the living room and set your plates and cups on the coffee table. Dave loads up the movie, putting on subtitles at your request, flips off the lights in the living room, and joins you back on the couch. You're not as close as you were before the pizza arrived, but you're closer than you started out, so you'll take it as a win.

The movie was over before you know it. You're glad it was one you had already seen because you couldn't pay attention to it for the life of you. You're pretty sure your two pizza slices are gone from reflex alone. Honestly it's not your fault you're so distracted! Dave's insistence of wearing his sunglasses in all environments apparently did not extend to watching a movie in a dark apartment. Shortly after the movie started, he took them off and placed them next to his plate on the dining table and you kept getting glimpses of red out the corner of your eye. At one point you "accidentally" elbowed him and when he looked over to see what was up, you were hit full blast by candy red eyes. You're  _ sure _ you muttered some idiotic apology but you only remember what. Apparently it was enough for Dave because he just half smiled and shrugged and turned his attention back to the screen. It took all your willpower not to immediately elbow him again, and you spent the rest of the movie trying to get more glimpses. But now it’s over and he grabs his glasses as he gets up to turn the lights back on.  
“Wait!” you blurt you.  
He pauses, glasses in hand, red eyes looking into yours in expectation.  
“Uh.” You panic, unsure of how to follow up. “Maybe… we should… watch another movie?”  
His brows wrinkle. “Not to keep bringing this up, but for someone who got onto me for being an insincere seeming shit you sure are avoiding something right now. You weren’t watching the movie, like, at all. Which normally I’d understand except you picked it out. Was looking at McConaughey’s face for the better part of an hour and thirty-seven minutes too much for you? Poppin’ a raging troll-boner or what?”  
You’re glad humans can’t see as well in the dark because you can feel your face turning a deep red. You’re not sure if you want to keep staring into his eyes or make yourself look away. But he can’t see you stare, so you stare. Dave is still waiting on a response. You don’t know what to say that won’t sound really fucking weird.  
He shifts on his feet awkwardly. “Seriously though, you okay, Kat?” He takes a step back toward you, then hesitates.  
You let out a long breath. “We have the same eye color.”  
Dave’s free hand jerks up to his eyes as though he forgot he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. “Fuck, right, troll.” His hand drops and he twirls his glasses in his other. “Uh, I mean, yeah, I noticed.”  
You scoot over a little from the middle of the couch, hoping Dave could see that and take the hint. He does and sits next to you again.  
“Lowbloods aren’t exactly persecuted anymore,” you begin slowly. “Being a casteist is pretty frowned upon just about anywhere you go. But I’m not  _ just _ a lowblood; I’m also a mutant.”  
“Ah,” Dave says, falling back into the couch.  
“Yeah,” you say. “It’s still not… welcome? But it’s…” You rub your face with your hands. “I wear contacts most places I go. And I know that humans have the same blood color as me, hell, I’ve seen plenty of it with my job, but--”  
“But no one has these peepers,” Dave finishes with a mirthless bark of a laugh.  
“Yeah.”  
He sighs. “Practically my whole family has weird ass fucking eyes. My shades make things easier. That and they’re cool as shit,” he smirks. You snort. “And a present from John.” He stares at his glasses, still twirling them. “I don’t have to deal with people being shitty on a societal basis because my eyes are weird, but it’s also not something I like to broadcast.”  
You nod, then say “Yeah,” when you realize he’s still not looking at you. “Sorry. It was a shock, I guess. I mean, good!” you add quickly. “I-I like them, don’t get me wrong, I just wasn’t expecting it, to see someone with my eye color. It’s not something I thought would bug me out this much, but here we are, me prattling on about something you’re obviously not into being talked about. Sorry.”  
Dave doesn’t say anything, he just lightly tosses the glasses onto the table then pulls you into a hug, face buried in the crook of your neck. You hug him back. Minutes go by and he doesn’t move to break the embrace, so you slowly move back to lean against the arm of the couch, and his head moves from your neck to your chest and you’re sure he can feel your blood pusher fluttering beneath him.

“Apparently I don’t know how to talk through emotional shit without making an ass out of myself so this is what you get for now instead of any actual like comfort, though if you like, I could always do my best ‘That sucks bro,’ for you.”  
You jolt. You had not quite been sleeping, but your awareness of your surroundings was at an all time low, and Dave suddenly talking after what must have been at least an hour startles you out of your haze. “That’s only fair. I’m the one who started being weird about shit and dumped my alien racism problems on you out of nowhere.”  
He laughs and you feel it deep in your chest. “Fair ‘nough.” He regrettably sits up and stretches. Then lets out a yawn, which you copy. He glances around. “Oh shit, dude, it’s fuckin’ late. Do you… I mean… I’m not kicking you out but like…” He trails off.  
“What do you mean it’s late? Isn’t it like ten?”  
“Five after eleven, Kat.”  
You frown and look at your phone. “Jesus shit.”  
“He sure did.”  
You smack Dave on the shoulder. “Seriously, Dave, this is  _ classic  _ kick out time. I have  _ definitely _ overstayed my welcome by now.” You get up and grab your dishes to take to the sink.  
“I mean… If you want… Like you don’t have to, but… It’s kinda late, Karkat. D’you wanna… Stay here?”  
You finish placing your dishes in the sink slowly, giving yourself a second for your brain to start working. “As in, for the night?”  
“Only if you’re cool with it, like, no pressure or anything!”  
“Oh, uh.” You are desperately trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, I mean, I’d be fine crashing on the couch if you’re cool with it.”  
You see Dave scrunch himself up and rub a hand through his hair. “I mean, you don’t gotta do that. I’ve-I’ve got a full size bed I mean, if you’re comfortable with it, I wouldn’t, like, mind?”  
“O-oh! Are you sure?”  
“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”  
“Yeah! I mean, yeah, yeah, probably better than trying to call a taxi this time of night anyway.”  
Dave nods enthusiastically. “F’sure.”  
“I, uh, don’t have anything to change into though.”  
“Oh!” Dave perks up. “You can borrow some of my stuff I’m like swimming in sleepwear for some goddamned reason and most of it should fit you.”

And before you know it, you’re pressed comfortingly between Dave and the wall wearing a loose white t-shirt with a record on it and quadrant pajama pants. You weren’t expecting Dave to be this cuddly as soon as you both crawled into bed, but it seems once the close physical contact cork popped, the guy couldn’t get enough of it, and you definitely weren’t complaining. So, with one arm draped over your waist and his breath warm on your neck, you drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea the pain it caused me to have Dave say "pop" instead of "soda."


End file.
